Out of the Dark
by RainIsMyFavouriteColour
Summary: Remus Lupin never thought he belonged anywhere but the dark until he met the Marauders. - It's dark. You hear whispers in the night but you don't bother listening. You've already heard it all before, the viciousness, the ignorance and the fear. It's poisoned you for so long, you're used to it. -


It's dark.

You hear whispers in the night but you don't bother listening. You've already heard it all before, the viciousness, the ignorance and the fear. It's poisoned you for so long, you're used to it.

You hear whispers in the night and they grow closer. You curl into yourself, scared despite your better judgment. They're just words, you tell yourself, blind in the dark and turning your ears the other way. They say nothing about you and only what others see you as. It doesn't have to be the truth.

You hear whispers, except they're not whispers anymore, they're right in your ear, invasive and colourful, like loud voices are bound to be. You expect insults, a verbal beating, but all you get are bright twin grins and even brighter offerings of candy. You don't know how to react, so you don't, except for wide eyes and a shy, tentative smile.

The offerings don't stop, little things, like what their names are and where they are from. _James Potter_ and _Sirius Black_ , they introduce themselves, and once they ask for something in return, you readily give your name. A name isn't everything, after all, and they can't hurt you with what they don't know. They can't join the whispers.

A little later, the same exchange occurs with a boy called _Peter Pettigrew_.

– O –

 _James Potter. Sirius Black. Peter Pettigrew._

They become your whispers, your mantra, in the dark and light your way. You begin to feel like the dark doesn't have to be the home it's made out to be, that you don't have to live in fear and isolation, treated with disgust.

There is something worthwhile in you to be found, something that can shine with a glow all by itself, even in the oppressive dark of the night.

Maybe, one day, you can find enough courage in yourself to step into the sun.

– O –

The whispers become screams when they find out, and you shut yourself away before they can do it for you. The whispers lay in your ears, too loud to ignore, as they rain down a never-ending stream of hatred and poison gas on you, silver-tongued _you've always been a monster, it's better to face the truth, the day does not belong to you_ and barbed _you will never be the same, you don't belong, you never will_ 's.

They keep you chained and you don't have the will to try and break them. You're already scraped raw and you're so, so tired. You've stopped looking for the light because you're afraid that it won't be there anymore. It's just a thought, just a silent fear, but you don't want to confirm it, even on the off-chance that you are wrong. Hope can be a wonderful thing, but now you can't help but curse its existence.

The whispers surround you like a whirling storm, hiding everything else, and so it takes you a while and so many touches of the sun they leave you burnt, until you finally look up, almost frozen in fear and bitterly hopeful.

And the light is still there.

– O –

The whispers are too, but they wax and wane like the moon. It becomes easier to ignore them, some times more than others, but you've learned to live with that. You've lived with far worse.

 _James Potter. Sirius Black. Peter Pettigrew._

Your mantra is alive and well, giving off the light you so desperately crave and take in. Time teaches you to give back, and before you know it, you've found that glow you glimpsed so long ago. You become your own light, welcoming the warmth of another, because if the dark is made of loneliness, the day is made of companionship. You're tentatively stepping out into the sunlight, cautious of its warmth.

You've never been happier.

– O –

 _Sirius Black._

For the first time in your life, the whispers in the night are completely silent. You would have thought you'd welcome it, but the silence is so oppressive, you've gone numb. You don't know what to feel, if you can feel anything at all. You don't know anything anymore.

 _Peter Pettigrew._

The light that first was your guide and then companion, flickers. It's fragmented, dying, and there's nothing you can do about it. It's weak, and hurt is beginning to bleed through the cracks fissuring your numbness until you're drowning.

 _James Potter._

The light shivers and then disappears in a puff of smoke like a candle blown out in the cold wind. The silence the whispers left behind is pierced by a scream, your scream, as the pain tears you apart. And the worst thing is, no one hears you.

– O –

The whispers never return, but you learn that silent darkness is worse than the whispers ever were. You've tried to return to the night but it reminds you too much of the light that you lost. You still don't belong to the day; all that you had been granted was a momentary reprieve, a pretense. But you always knew, somewhere, that it would come to an end. Pretenses aren't made to last.

So you live in the grey twilight instead, away from the dark that covers all, beautiful and ugly, and the day that bursts with colour. You're colour-blind, and maybe you always were, maybe you were meant to be.

– O –

It's dark.

You hear whispers in the night but you don't bother listening. You've already heard it all before, the viciousness, the ignorance and the fear. It's poisoned you for so long, you're used to it.

You hear whispers in the night and they grow closer. You curl into yourself, old fear resurfacing as you slowly wake, scared despite your better judgment. They're just words.

Whispers.

Your eyes open and you realise it's been a long time since you heard anything other than dark silence. Hope can be a terrible, terrible thing, but it begins to flicker like that light did long ago before it died, and you don't know whether to welcome it or not.

But you've stood still for too long, stagnant in the limbo of your not-night. The whispers stopped or maybe you stopped listening – you don't know.

It's time to start listening again and find out.

You open your ears and you realise the fear in whispered words, a contradiction because the dark is a friend of fear, of hatred, of poison, not an enemy, but this fear is _of_ the dark.

Not of _you_.

You flicker.

– O –

 _James Potter._

The light is dim but undeniably there, dancing across a face buried deep in your memory of happier times.

The boy. He looks like him but it can't be. It has to be a ghost. Then his eyes open and all you can see is _green, green, green_.

 _Lily._

And you know.

It's your turn to guide, to protect. To give back all you've been given.

You light up.


End file.
